Whitney’s bike tires hit the rocky gravel, spitting small rocks out of the spokes. I take Dad’s left hand, keeping him tight around my body. I won’t let you fall, Dad.
When we make it to the water’s edge, Lucy and Benny immediately rush to our side to steady us.
“Dad? You okay?”
“That was… something,” he breathes.
We look out to the water and back to Dad. I didn’t really think this part through.
“You swim,” he says. “I’ll wait here.”
Benny was right. The water is shockingly cold as I glide underwater like a seal. But underneath the surface, my world is silent, calm, and uncomplicated. Every worry floats away. I exhale until I have no more air in my lungs. When I come up, my lungs fill with cool September air. I glance back and see that Dad’s sitting in the sand, head tilted up at the stars. I don’t know how we’re going to get him back home, but I focus on the look on his face instead. The memory of him flying.
The three of us stay together, changing strokes when our arms become tired. Swimming to Blueberry Island has been a rite of passage since we were little. Dad taught us to swim by telling us stories of its hidden forest with fresh blueberries and the elusive loon and heron birds. It seemed epically far back then, but it’s not really. I’m so out of practice, though, that my muscles tire quickly.
“Remember when we used to think there were crocodiles in the lake?” Benny says as I keep pushing.
“Don’t say it, Benny!” Lucy says.
My imagination spins off in dangerous directions. Who knows what’s really under our feet? Who knows how deep the lake really is or what lives under the dark mud?
“I don’t like not being able to see,” I say.
“But sometimes it’s more fun to not know, right?” Lucy says. “Surprises are fun.”
Something about the way she says it makes me uneasy, but I don’t know why. I know how much Lucy loves surprises.
We reach the island, breathless, putting our feet down on the slimy rock-bottom shoreline of the island.
But when I scour the bushes for our precious prize of hundreds and hundreds of tiny sweet-tasting blueberries, I come up empty-handed.
“I knew it. We’re too late,” Benny says, frustrated. “They were here in July and August.”
“Keep trying!” I say.
“We can’t make our friendship pact without them,” Lucy says.
“Friendship pact?” I say, blindly feeling more bushes for blueberries. Even with the moonlight, I can barely see the bushes, let alone berries.
“From fourth grade,” Lucy says. “We said we’d renew it when we were eighth graders.”
“I remember,” Benny says. “Golden wanted to do a blood pact, but none of us wanted to prick a finger. So we mashed blueberries between our fingers and pretended it was blood.”
I pause in my search, smiling at the memory.
“They’re gone, Golden,” Lucy says, pulling me up. I look over at her, struck by how the water slides off her golden hair and drops off her nose, how the moonlight beams right off her. “But it doesn’t matter,” she says, holding her hand up in the air. “We can still make the pact.”
Benny and I touch our fingertips to hers.
“Under the full moon that rises over Highland Lake on this night,” Lucy says, “the day of our birth, September eighth, the day Golden and I arrived on this earth and immediately journeyed to find Benny at preschool…”
Benny and I laugh as Lucy continues. “As blood brothers and sister…”
“Blueberry blood,” Benny amends.
“Yes,” Lucy says seriously. “We solemnly promise to be friends forever and always.”
“And our friendship shall always consist of epic adventures, night swims, and championship games,” I say.
“And Curtis Meowfield.” Lucy smiles.
“And we will always tell each other the truth,” says Benny.
“And we will never let anything or anyone come between us,” Lucy says.
The Dark Lord comes to mind, but I shake it off quickly.
“And we will always share our food,” I say. “Right, Benny?”
“Golden!” Lucy says, laughing.
“You’ve seen my fridge.”
Lucy finishes solemnly. “No matter what our future holds.”
“No matter what,” we say in unison.
We squish into a hug that breaks only when Benny swats at a mosquito and I remember Dad’s got to be fighting the bloodsuckers on land, without the ability to swat.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get Dad.”
We dive in, blueberry blood pact renewed. Halfway back to the beach, the clouds swim across the sky and cover the moon. I swim faster in the inky black water, trying not to think about the deep dark depths under me, trying in vain to scan for Dad on the shore.
“What was that?” Lucy whispers, stopping midstroke.
“What?”
“Something touched my foot.”
We start swimming like it’s an Olympic sprint.
But when we reach the shore we find something much worse than a sea creature slithering over a foot in the deep.
Dad is nowhere to be found.
* * *
“I don’t see him in the water,” Lucy says, splashing along the shoreline.
“Dragon-Ball P can swim!” Benny says. “He wouldn’t just drown… right, Golden?”
“No…” I try to sound confident, but I frantically scan the water.
“Maybe he started walking home,” Benny says, wildly swatting. “The mosquitoes are wicked bad tonight!” We jump on our bikes, Lucy laces up her roller skates, and we head toward the road.
“What if he was kidnapped?” Lucy asks.
“Dude, of course he’s not kidnapped,” Benny says, pedaling. “He’s a grown man.”
“He wouldn’t really be able to fight back, though. Dad!” I yell, cursing myself that we didn’t do more strength training this summer.
“Maybe if he really had to fight, he could,” Lucy says. “I saw this show once where a man was in a wheelchair and his baby fell into the pool and he made himself fall in, swim, and save the baby.”
“There he is!” I yell, my lungs filling with relief. I make out his silhouette only a few feet ahead of us, inching down the road, arms not swinging.
“Dad!” I say, catching up to him on my bike. “You were supposed to wait.”
“Mosquitoes,” he says. “Eating me alive. Sorry to worry you.” He shakes his head irritably at a mosquito buzzing close to his ear. I smack it, but the blood splatters grossly on Dad’s face.
“Sorry.”
The bike ride home is torturous. We’re wet, tired, and cold, and Dad is heavier on the seat behind me.
Mom’s probably looking for us by now. The Squirrels are probably hysterical. I consider calling for a ride home, but Jaimes would probably run us over before we even got in the van.
When we finally make it back to Benny’s, I’m thrilled for a short break. Benny’s dad runs out with a Tupperware of noodles, like he’s been waiting.
“Mmm, Dad’s favorite,” I say as the incredible smell drifts over us.
“We’ll bring you more,” he says, tying the bag onto my handlebars. “Now you better get home. Your mother called.”
Uh-oh.
He pats Dad on the back, looking concerned. “You want a ride up the hill?”
“I got it!” I say, stubbornly tightening Dad’s arms around my waist. “Thank you!”
“You should have said yes,” Lucy says. “How in the world…?”
“I can do it!” I say. “Right, Dad?”
When he hesitates, I pedal even faster.
I push ahead, Lucy skating beside me, both of us trying to gain momentum for the uphill ride.
“You got it,” Dad says. “Come on.”
We make it halfway up, my calves straining, lungs about to explode. I try to keep pushing but can’t make the pedals move another inch. I
hop off and catch Dad before he falls over.
“I’ve got your noodles, Coach!” Lucy proclaims, swooping in to grab them from me.
We abandon the bike on the side of the road, Dad’s energy as flat as a dead balloon. Of course that’s when the mosquitoes descend again, attacking with a vengeance.
“Go ahead!” I call to Lucy, swatting furiously as she skates. “Save yourself!”
But one look at Dad and she skates back. Together we support him on either side and attempt to climb the hill, all the while fighting the swarming mosquitoes and trying to save the noodles.
Dad is breathing hard, and I think of the cane. The one I purposefully left behind so he could practice walking.
Now without it, Dad’s barely moving.
“Keep going,” I say. “Please, Dad.”
We’re only a couple hundred feet from the driveway, but Dad falters, barely able to take another step. We grasp him, but my hands slide on his skin from the exertion and sweat. I push away the sinking feelings threatening to rise. No, Dad can do this. Like the dad saving the baby in the pool Lucy was talking about. He can do it for himself.
“Call… Mom,” Dad says, panting.
“You can do it!” I say, coaching him like he’d coach me.
Just then, I hear a sound coming from the bottom of the hill. I turn my head to see a dark figure running at us, pulling something loud and clunky.
“Yo,” a voice says. “I got you, Dragon-Ball P!”
“Benny!”
He’s pulling his old red Radio Flyer wagon. I almost cry out of relief. We carefully lower Dad into it, his back resting on the wooden slabs, and then the three of us, me and my best friends in the whole world, push and pull Dragon-Ball P up the gravelly road. It’s at that moment that I know I was foolish to keep Benny away all summer, to think for even a moment that he and Lucy would be embarrassed to be my friend or too sad to stay to watch what’s happening. I know now that they’ll never abandon me, because that’s what friends never do.
Dad’s a good sport, keeping calm as he tries to stay upright while the wagon jostles and bangs him around with every tiny bump and rock in the road.
When we make it, panting, to the top of the driveway, someone is waiting. But it’s not Mom.
It’s the Dark Lord.
He springs forward and grabs the wagon from us like he’s some sort of hero, and wheels it down to the house.
Mom is waiting. Her lips are in a Coach tight line.
“Happy birthday, Golden,” Lucy whispers.
“Happy birthday, Lucy.”
* * *
The Dark Lord takes Benny home as we get Dad inside.
My cold birthday dinner and birthday cake are still on the table, but Mom doesn’t mention either. With Jaimes’s help, they get Dad into the shower. He sits on a stool in his boxers and Mom uses the showerhead to wash the sweat and mosquito blood off him.
Given our harrowing trip home, I peek through the door crack with dread. But instead of doom and gloom, Dad seems… transformed. He has a smile on his face, eyes closed. Water is pouring out of the shower spigot, down his face, over his eyes, nose, and mouth.
“Did you actually ride a bike?” Mom asks.
“No,” he says, triumphant, water splashing out of his mouth. “I was flying.”
And no matter how mad Mom is, I’m suddenly triumphant too, that I could make him feel that way.
Like we really can do anything together.
Even if it takes ten thousand tries.
Squirrel Hair and Other Tasks a Mini-Messi Shouldn’t Have to Do
Sometimes there are no second chances, no next time. Sometimes it’s now or never.
—SOCCER GREAT ABBY WAMBACH
The next morning I oversleep.
These days, that’s really not good.
When I bounce downstairs, Jaimes is rushing around the kitchen and pouring four cups of milk. “Hurry up.”
“Yes, Mother Gothel,” I say, trying to do a pull-up on the doorframe.
“You’re not funny!”
“Kind of funny.” The molding above the door suddenly gives way, and I find myself on the floor holding a broken piece of door trim.
“Golden!” Jaimes shrieks. “Dad can’t even fix that anymore!”
“Yes he can!”
“And we really don’t have time for you to work out while I get everyone ready for school. Especially on game day.”
“It’s not game day.”
“For me and Dad! Not everything’s about you. And it’s an important game for me,” Jaimes says, setting out my multivitamin like she’s the boss.
“You shouldn’t wear that to school,” she continues, getting huffier by the minute.
I look down at my perfectly normal basketball shorts and T-shirt. “What’s the problem?”
“You wore it swimming last night!”
“Actually,” I say, “it’s none of your business.” I don’t tell her that none of my clothes are any cleaner right now.
“Actually, it is my business, since we’re related.”
“Great. I’ll go to school naked.”
Whitney walks into the kitchen and screams, making me jump a foot.
“WHAT?” I say.
“You’re going to school naked?”
“Yes! And stop screaming, you DEMENTED SQUIRREL!”
I look in the fridge for something to eat. Big surprise, nothing there. “We need food!” I yell.
On cue, Jaimes hands me something small and shriveled. “Apple.”
“It’s a million years old—and stop trying to be Mom.”
“Fine, go hungry,” she retorts, very Mom-like.
I spy the birthday cake on the counter. Using my hand, I take a big scoop and shove it into my mouth.
Jaimes’s mouth drops open as steam nearly comes out of her ears.
“See how mad you can get!” I say, cake crumbs accidentally spitting out of my mouth and onto her face.
Admittedly, her self-control is impressive. When she speaks, her voice is dangerously low. “Well, now you definitely have to change.”
I look down and see a big smear of icing and crumbs down my front. Ugh.
I run upstairs and pass the bathroom, where Mom is combing Dad’s hair. Mom’s also shaved his face.
“That’s my job,” I protest, stepping closer. My eyes widen. “What did she do to your face?”
“Mosquito bites,” Mom says tersely.
Instant guilt floods through me. His head is covered with angry red welts. His right eye is partially swollen shut.
“Do they… itch?”
“I’m experimenting,” Dad says. “If I tell my brain they don’t, they won’t.”
“Well, that’s great,” Mom says, sounding snappish. “Because you won’t be able to scratch them.”
“Sorry,” I say weakly.
“Hurry up, Golden,” Mom says. “School.”
I run to my room and throw on a pair of mostly clean jeans.
“Where’s my belt?” I holler, kicking over piles looking for it.
“I don’t wear your belts. Did you get Roma up?” Mom yells back.
“No time! I have no belt, no clean clothes, no food except one rotten apple, and I’m already a shrimp so I can’t afford to lose any more weight!”
I hear her footsteps coming down the hall. I hide behind my bedroom door. Mom appears in the doorframe looking like she’s making the Hulk-Coach transformation. She eyeballs me right through the crack of the doorframe.
“First, you’re being very rude.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I say automatically.
“Second, it looks like you’re wearing clothes and your pants aren’t falling down.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“And third, you’re not starving just because you have to eat a piece of fruit for one meal until I can go grocery shopping today.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Golden?” Her voice sounds like roiling water about to boil, spill ou
t, and scald me. I’ve been waiting for this since I got home last night, and now she lets me have it. “Your dad CANNOT swat at mosquitoes anymore, so when you take him on a bike ride without telling me—”
“I know, I know. I said I was sorry! But you know what Lucy said? She saw this show where this completely paralyzed man saved a baby from drowning because he had to, so maybe—”
“Golden, enough!” She turns and walks back to Dad.
“Just sayin’!” I say defensively, but she never listens to my ideas, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
I swap dirty shirts, then go down the hall to find Roma still in bed, even though Whitney’s probably been up for hours. I poke her shoulder, jiggle her, but when none of that works, I eventually resort to tickling her awake.
“NOOOOO!” she shrieks. Success.
“Get up—we’re late.” I look at her snarly hair. “Roma, you’ve got to start using a brush and looking presentable.” I look around to make sure Jaimes didn’t hear me.
I hand Roma a brush. “Put it in a ponytail.”
“You do it.” Roma thrusts the brush back at me.
“No. I’m not doing your hair.”
“Dad would!” Roma howls.
“We’re late!” Mom yells.
“Let’s go,” I say to Roma, trying to hurry her up.
Her face scrunches up and she throws the brush at me, then herself onto her bed.
This is getting us nowhere fast.
“Fine!” I say to Roma. “Where’s the iPad?”
There are 10,593 choices of How to Make a Perfect Ponytail on YouTube. Including How to Make a Perfect Ponytail, How to Have a Volumized Ponytail, How to Do a High Ponytail, Poofy Ponytail, Basic Ponytail, Invisible Ponytail…
“It’s really not that hard,” Roma says.
“Easy for you to say—you’ve got hair!”
I make my best attempt, and by the end, Roma looks like a disheveled rocker with a slight side ponytail, but hey, it’s effort, man.
She snuggles up to me. “Golden, I love you.”
I totally melt. “Thanks, Squirrel. Can we get dressed now?”
She looks up at me and whispers, “I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die.”
Ten Thousand Tries Page 10